Harsh Truths From a Batty Old Woman
by rhead-a-holyc
Summary: If there was one thing Arabella Figg had learnt living in the muggle world, it was that everything had a meaning. Including the page that nearly had her turn into an old popsicle.


**Notes: Quidditch League Round 2 Ballycastle Bats Keeper: Write about a dare that reveals a person's true feelings**

* * *

Arabella had never been able to resist walking in the freshly fallen snow. It had been something she had enjoyed, even as a young girl. There was, after all, something magical about the absolute purity of something that had fallen out of the sky—like a fallen angel, or Lucifer, as some muggles said—as if they were paying for some mistake they had made against the heavens. Like she was, for some unknown reason, with her lack of magic. Sometimes she even wished she had been born to the muggle world, not knowing what she was missing, but Arabella could never decide if that truly would be better.

Even her recently broken leg (another accident tripping over one of her cat's toys) couldn't prevent her from venturing beyond her home. Potions weren't as effective on squibs as they were for magicals, taking far longer to work—but they were still quicker than muggle methods—so the lingering pain still remained even after a day.

The fluttering of curtains every time she glanced at the windows of her neighbours' homes informed her of her spectators. She could almost hear their mocking words already, but she was considered to be the 'batty' old lady down the road anyway. A couple more rumours weren't going to ruin her reputation. A reputation like hers meant that all the women found convenient excuses to be busy whenever she invited them over for tea, which Arabella preferred over them snooping around her home.

A crunch alerted her to something amiss. After taking a moment to make sure she hadn't destroyed anything of her own, she glanced at the ground, barely making out the slightly off-white piece of paper half-buried in the snow. Her walking stick cleared the snow off the paper that she was starting to believe was one poor sod's homework. A closer inspection insisted that it was some sort of dare, or bullying, with the words 'tell the truth' messily scribbled on every available space on the paper.

It was a rather admirable sort of bullying they did these days, forcing someone to tell the truth. It was something Arabella was certain even Albus would strive to live by. Perhaps she would owl it to him later. Albus' confusion would be amusing, if nothing else. Picking up the dratted page, however, took a bit of manoeuvring, with her now-freezing limbs unwilling to cooperate. She made a note to dress more warmly tomorrow, so she could walk a little further without becoming an old popsicle.

She set the paper on the mantle above her fireplace as she shuffled into her home, before turning on the electric fireplace that required far less maintenance from her aging body. With a blanket embracing her, Arabella sat on her couch, staring at the innocent page thoughtfully.

If some child could be asked to do that, surely a batty old woman would have nothing to lose from doing the same for a few days? If they scorned her for telling the truth, that just showed their own nature and not hers (and proved her right).

It could be like a schoolyard dare—a bit of silliness, a dash of meaning, and a serving of pure Gryffindor. Maybe even a sprinkle of Slytherin for the particularly explosive neighbours!

Arabella reckoned that was a plan, nodded her head once, and took a nap.

 **…oOo…**

The shrill ringing of the telephone startled her awake, and Arabella took several seconds to calm her throbbing heart. She really ought not to sleep on the couch closest to the telephone, or sleep on a couch in general—that was the reason she had a bed!

"Hello?"

"Arabella, would you mind looking after the Boy today? We want to take Dudders out to the amusement park for his birthday. We'll be by to drop the boy within the hour," came the voice of Petunia Dursley, with nary a second's pause before she muttered her, "Thank you," and hung up.

"I'd bet she doesn't do that to her other neighbours," Arabella grumbled, adjusting her position on the couch to aid standing. "Although, at least there's a 'thank you' this time. Harry's such a lovely boy, too. Surprisingly, considering who's been raising him."

It was then that the white of the paper caught her eye, and she frowned. Was she really going to accept having Harry over just so that the spoilt Dudley could have fun? Was she really going to cater to Petunia's wishes, knowing where her bitterness stemmed from?

Arabella didn't think she could go against her truth dare. It had somehow made its way to her. Things like that rarely happened for no reason, Arabella had learnt that much from living in the muggle world for so long.

So, when Arabella opened the door to greet an annoyed Petunia and a miserable Harry, she asked them to step in for a moment, using Petunia's own excuse of 'the impoliteness of not inviting guests in'—in truth, Petunia had only wanted to boast her newest television, but the excuse worked in Arabella's favour this time. Petunia had been forced to oblige, carting Harry along by his sleeve.

The letter waved at her in reminder as the door closed, as if she was able to forget its presence.

"Petunia," Arabella began, having planned where to start while she waited for the woman to arrive. "You're a real piece of work. Just because _you_ were never able to attend Hogwarts, that doesn't mean you should be punishing _Harry_ for the fact that there's no way he won't be attending Hogwarts. You're a bitter woman, who needs to stop behaving like a child, and grow up."

A long silence followed Arabella's words, and Petunia perfected her imitation of a catfish. Harry, the poor boy, looked between Petunia and her in confusion. They'd obviously told him nothing of his true history, and Arabella was going to fix that at the nearest opportunity.

"H-how did you-you're one of them!" Petunia screeched, once her voice returned to her.

Arabella snorted. "You really think I'd live amongst the likes of _you_ if I had magic. No, I'd probably be in Azkaban for mass murder of a street of muggles."

"Boy, we're leaving," Petunia snapped.

"You've always been good at running, Petunia. And blaming other people. I haven't the foggiest how you manage to look at yourself in the mirror! Oh, wait, I forgot, the mirror can't look at you either!"

As the door slammed behind them, Arabella would admit that she'd never had such fun in a long time. Perhaps she'd call over Danielle next? That woman had the temperament of a Cerberus and intelligence of a doorknob.


End file.
